


We Will Not Let You Go

by DeacyDrowse



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Chaos, Gen, I do not own IKEA, IKEA, Violence, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeacyDrowse/pseuds/DeacyDrowse
Summary: The boys get lost in IKEA.And other things.
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Roger Taylor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, don’t take this seriously. I was bored and had writers block on another more serious story I’m doing and needed to brain fart. I didn’t need to post it but if anyone wanted a laugh or reassurance that they are not the worst writer on here – here you go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *this is fiction and please don't take this seriously*  
> WARNINGS: Swearing, sex references, fires and IKEA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IKEA didn’t open in the UK until quite a while after this is set.  
> This is told from Roger's P.O.V in first person because I find it easier.

_10th September 1976._

  
This isn’t how I imagined ‘making it big’ would look like. Two bunk beds, in the smallest room known to man, in a crummy B&B on the nosiest A-road Wales could offer. I don’t even know what town we’re in – I heard the words Twin Odin or something like that – or what hotel we’re in, or how far away we are from civilization. The car we were in broke down, the driver getting embarrassed and fucking off god knows where, leaving the four of us to amble down the street until a kind woman took us in.

  
‘Now, would any of you like an omelette?’ 

  
‘No, please, we’re okay.’ Brian nods, trying to smile at the woman. ‘Um... do you have a phone we could use?’

  
‘Oh no, the telephone around here’s awful! Go a few miles out the city centre and you’re done for. Why, do you need to be somewhere?’

  
‘Yes, Hyde Park by the 18th.’ Freddie chimes, eyeing up the top bunk and flicking on a bedside lamp, it’s wire slowly starting to glow, dimly. ‘We’ll stay here for now, go into the city tomorrow. I’m sure our boys will be out looking for us in the morning.’

  
‘Okay, well settle in boys... I’m going out tonight but I’m sure I can trust you here.’ With that she finally leaves, the door hinges squealing louder than my screams. There’s a gurgling noise from the en-suite, Brian looking over in horror.

  
‘Bri, we shared a flat for two or three years.’ I groan. ‘We can survive the night with-’

  
‘I gave you and Fred a designated bathroom in the flat for a _reason.’_

  
Downstairs, a door crashes shut and Freddie and I dash to the window, the woman who invited us here hopping into an Opel Kadett. 

  
‘Have we just been abandoned here to die? That’s twice in one night.’ I sigh, scrunching my nose up at the musty smell cloaking us. 

  
‘Well we will die if you take a shit, dear.’

  
‘What if she’s taking the body of the driver somewhere?’ Brian glares over at the top bunk where John has already made himself comfy. ‘Y’know, it’ll explain why she turned up minutes after he fucked off... no, then why hasn’t she killed us, too?’

  
‘Sometimes I wish we’d just let you stay quiet.’ The guitarist joins Freddie and I at the window. ‘Let you two decide who’s getting the other top bunk.’

  
‘I’m smaller – I’ll take it.’ The singer jumps in. ‘I’ll go on your side Brian, don’t trust Roger.’

  
‘Wait!’ I stride over to the bed in the far corner, scaling the ladder, nonchalant grey eyes meeting mine. ‘Smallest go on the top bunk. Sleepover rules.’

  
‘We’re the same height, actually.’ John smirks at me, that little glint in his eyes triggering that flipping soft spot I have for him. 

  
_‘Fine.’_

  
‘Fred close the curtains, it’s too light outside.’ Clasping his hands together, the bassist stretches out, careful of the ceiling and lets out a small whine. It’s impossible not to smile at that.

  
I glance around the room, searching for a clock, a wave of tiredness suddenly striking me. It’s only half eight, then again John and I did wake up at 5 in the morning to position a rolled-up carpet _perfectly_ outside Paul’s door, followed by the four of us being forced into a conference room for around ten-thousand years, then we had to play in the rain in front of thousands of horny, screaming Welshwomen. We’ve not even been bothered to get changed, Brian regretting this as he tries not the let the nylon sheets set fire to his frilly shirt. 

  
After clambering back down the ladder, there’s a slender hand on my shoulder and sharp fingernails drag through my hair. 

  
‘You are having the bottom bunk.’ Freddie smiles before springing back over to the window - nice to know he’s still oh-so-full of energy. The curtain rail screeches, the lamp on the table providing enough light for a mouse’s book club. ‘Well, it’s too dark now Deaky.’ 

  
Slipping underneath the thinnest blanket in human history and stripping down to my socks and boxers, staring up at the skinny panels keeping me from facing death by falling bassist. John was right – you need to sleep like a log in order for that not to give way. Also, being on the bottom bunk has its perks at times.   
Kicking away some of the blanket, I raise my leg, prepared to send my friend a goodnight kick. However, across from me there’s a cough, Brian slowly shaking his head at me with an expression of mild fear. I lower my foot, smiling lightly at the soft snores coming from above me. 

  
‘It’s alright for you Roger, you’re not putting up with the most active sleeper in all of existence.’ Bri glares at Freddie, the singer flinging his black leotard at him. I did once make the error of allowing Freddie to sleep on the top bunk when we got stranded in Padstow a few years back, and the entire night it felt like a gazelle was performing aerobics above me. 

  
‘Oh relax, darling!’ As he slings his many items of jewellery on the table, something dawns on me and I look back at the bed frame, the giggling twat trotting over to the bunk bed.

  
‘FREDDIE DON’T.’

  
Too late. My hands clamp over my mouth as Freddie leaps onto the top bed, a series of harsh cracks filling the room. Brown eyes widen before the mattress drops through the frame. Brian screams, holding out his arms as if that’ll do anything, as Freddie lands on him, Bri’s mattress plummeting to the floor in a blur dark hair of white satin

  
‘What was– oh for god’s sake!’ John leans over the edge of the bed, gazing down at the carnage. 

  
Then it goes quiet; _too_ quiet.

  
‘Bri? Fred?’ I hiss. A mound of black hair rises out of the wooden planks, a very sheepish looking Freddie trying to sit up, no movement coming from beneath him.

  
‘Roger,’ I look up to John again, his eyes fixed firmly on Freddie, studying his every move, ‘Can you deal with them?’

  
_‘Quickly,_ I’m being suffocated here.’ The three of us sigh in relief at the disgruntled murmur, a spindly arm wriggling out from under the wreckage and slapping Freddie’s thigh. There’s the distinct _thunk_ of platforms against a bedframe, chestnut hair dangling down as John glares at me.

  
‘Hold on.’ I swing my legs over the side, completely forgetting the floor is laminate. _‘Shit.’_

  
Arms flailing, my socks glide across the polished surface, turning me into some kind of pissed-up penguin. My eyes dart across the room, searching for something to steady myself on. _Perfect._ I reach out and slam my hands onto the bedside table, gasping as I regain my balance. Freddie’s necklaces rattle, the lamp jittering. Not wanting anything else to break, I grab the shade, fingertips brushing against what _must be_ one of the human torch’s testes.

  
Shrieking, I stagger back. Why was that so hot? The lamp wobbles again.

  
‘Not fooling for that!’ I snap, kicking the table, the flickering light toppling over. 

  
‘ROGER, you twat, that’s an incandes-’ 

  
Bright orange and red flares up in front of me, John diving off the bed as my mattress bursts into flames. Behind me, Freddie screeches, climbing out the rubble as Brian fights his way free, cursing when he sees the fire. Well, _my_ fire.

  
‘Roger, what did you do?’ 

  
Freddie and Bri rush to the door, the flames spreading across the bottom bunk as I back up into the en-suite. I started this; I will sort it. After snatching the shower head and turning on the glacial water, I head back out.

  
‘NO!’ John tackles me to the ground, flinging the shower back into the bathroom, soaking me in the freezing water. 

  
‘John, I know you’re a closeted arsonist but-’

  
‘It’s an _electric_ fire you pillock.’ He turns off the water, darting back into the main room, just as Freddie charges in with a fire extinguisher. ‘Is that foam?’

  
‘No, it’s a fire extinguisher.’ The singer screams, drawing back the red can. He’s going to throw it, isn’t he?

  
‘STOP!’ Brian and John wrestle with him and I wrench the extinguisher from his grasp. Then I realise.

  
‘I haven’t got my glasses.’

  
‘JUST PULL THE BLOODY PIN OUT.’ John takes the extinguisher from me, thrusting it to Brian. ‘You’ll reach it all.’

  
The entire bed is burning now, sounds of creaking and crackling filling the room before Bri charges at the flames, firing the extinguisher at them. John opens the window, fanning the thickening smoke out with a tourist flyer for Barry Island. Next to me, Freddie leans on my shoulder, clearing his throat.

  
‘Listen-’

  
‘No, Freddie.’ 

  
Eventually the fire goes out, leaving behind the charred remains of the bunk bed; the wreckage of the one Fred and Bri have – well, _had_ – suddenly feeling like a minor disaster.

  
‘What’s the woman going to do?’ Brian drops the extinguisher before helping John with the wafting.

  
‘You know my murder theory earlier.’

  
‘ _Shut up_.’

  
‘Well, when she does come back, I’m not going to pretend I was part of this.’ The bassist holds his hands up. ‘You and Freddie trashed that bed, Roger set our bed on fire. I did nothing except stop said _infernal arses_ from electrocuting themselves.’

  
‘How would I have – anyway, we need to run.’ I state, heading over to the burnt shell of a bed. ‘Get out and, I don’t know, take the train.’

  
‘And then what, leave the woman a note?’ John sighs. ‘Yes madam, sorry we broke your beds, set fire to the room and flooded the bathroom... we’re on the run now please send money. She knows we’re going to Kensington.’

  
‘So, will quite a few people.’ Brian adds as I get closer to the smoking frame. ‘Rog, don’t go near it.’

  
‘If we’re going to run, I need my clothes.’ I gesture at my bare chest and legs, looking over to Freddie. ‘He needs clothes too.’

  
‘That reminds me.’ Brian lifts one of the uncooked mattresses, retrieving Freddie’s leotard. ‘I think yours, Rog, are now embers.’

  
‘They’re floating over to Bristol as we speak.’ John snickers, scribbling on the Barry Island pamphlet. 

  
‘Deacy, why are you laughing?’

  
‘Just the thought of Roger running around a warehouse in his _Muppets_ boxers.’ Brian and Freddie stare over at the joke birthday present from Crystal – a one-size-too-small pair of Animal pants. ‘Actually, don’t run around, the staff don’t want to see Gonzo flopping all over the place.’

  
‘What are you going on about, darling?’

  
The bassist pushes past Fred and I, swinging the door open and propping his note on the door. Tilting my head in confusion, I wander over, squinting at the writing.

  
_To whom it may concern,_  
_Sorry my three mates ruined your two lovely bunk beds. If you arrive back before we get back, let me tell you we’ve gone to IKEA to get you some new beds. We’ll pay for everything and feel free to sue us._  
_With love, your friendly bass player_.

  
‘Friendly? You called me a pillock, an arse and a twat in a matter of ten minutes.’

  
He just shrugs and struts out the room, slinging a satchel bag over his shoulder. 

  
‘Wait, Deaky.’ Freddie scampers after him, hopping as he tries to slip his silver ankle boots on. ‘Don’t go out alone, it’s getting late.’

  
‘Fred, we are talking about a man that blew up Rog’s van and just rolled his eyes in ‘73.’

  
There’s the clacking of heels down the corridor, a stony-faced John pausing in the doorway with folded arms. 

  
‘You three bloody coming or not?’ 

  
Freddie grins, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulder as Brian shuffles after them, tense. I, however, just snort. Our frontman finds John quite cute, even when he’s in a bad mood, pretty much blind to the bassist’s chaotic antics and insults. Brian isn’t, he’s secretly quite frightened of John, I can just tell - argues with him but never wins. Mainly because John deploys _the glare_. 

  
Really wish I could do that – pretty much control people with one look. Still don’t know why none of us three have become immune to those eyes. I’ve acknowledged their power and still not become immune, I mean we became immune to Freddie’s _‘I haven’t brought another cat, honest_ ’ coat.

  
Sending the fried beds one last apologetic look, I shut the door, sticking close to Brian as we follow John down the hall. We’re flipping lucky that we’re the only people here, the stench of smoking nylon is pungent even downstairs or is that just because I’ve inhaled so much of the duvet dust?

  
The guitarist next to me pauses all of a sudden, placing a hand on my shoulder, sighing.

  
‘I think he’s forgetting something.’ He whispers, nodding at the brunette front of us. Humming, I stare up at my friend, narrowing my eyes. ‘The whole reason we’re in this mess is because we can’t get a car... and we can’t walk, we’ll be recognised.’

  
‘The woman didn’t.’ I shrug. ‘People around here are too busy roaming the countryside in Land Rovers, running after farm animals to pay attention to modern culture... John’s words not mine.’

  
‘Even so, look how we’re dressed – _not_ dressed in your case!’ He’s right, the only one of us that could blend into the public would be John in his white dungarees... if he wasn’t boosted up 6 inches with a leotard clad Freddie Mercury attached to him. that is. A mostly naked sweaty blonde following him can’t help either. Actually...

  
‘Bri you’ll be alright. You’re just in a shirt and pants, so...?’ He says nothing; just points, strongly, at his curls, glaring. ‘Point made.’

  
Thankfully, the front door is unlocked, the cold autumn wind gushing into the B&B and curling around my thighs – Fred’s hair flapping all over the place, Brian cursing. Of course, one of us is unfazed, the strong breeze making the bassist look a little bit like _Windblown Jackie_.

  
‘Right, so if wandering around looking like four desperate strip artists isn’t enough, we’ll freeze to death too.’ Freddie squeals, as I rub my arms with my torn palms. ‘Speaking of which, are you even _allowed_ in IKEA without clothes on?’

  
‘I’ve got a plan.’ John strides out the house, motioning for us three to follow. It’s at this moment I remember I haven’t got any shoes on, my already aching soles facing trial by Beelzebub’s pimply face as they sink onto the gravel drive. ‘Roger, stop screaming, you’ve scuppered our chances of getting a taxi enough, so far.’

  
‘By what possible meas _ure_ _.’_ I screech again, prancing across the freezing stones like a spanked deer, hoping to get to the now heavenly looking pavement ahead as quickly as possible. There’s wheezing behind me. ‘Shut up Brian.’

  
‘Rog, your pants are gravitating south.’ He cackles as the wind chill smacks me hard. As I skip past my other two band mates – who are also turning into hyenas – I hoist my last shred of dignity up, gasping as I finally find the tarmac, shuddering in the breeze. Then I remember we’re on a bloody A-road.

  
Yobbish shouts come from a hatchback as it flies past, throwing a puddle the size of the Atlantic at me, followed by three lorries that all honk at me. I flip them off, the laughter behind me getting louder as I brush my soaking hair out my face. 

  
‘Oh, fuck off.’ They join me, John rifling through the satchel before handing me a pac-a-mac. _‘Now_ you choose to bring that out?’

  
‘I wanted to see if you’d get hit by a puddle.’

  
After wrestling with the pac-a-mac and slipping the bright yellow thing on, the four of us head down the pavement, Brian waving for each car that passes in an attempt to get us a lift. 

  
‘This is stupid. Even when we _do_ get to IKEA, we’ll only have an hour in there before it closes.’ Bri huffs as yet another vehicle ignores us. 

  
‘We’re only getting two beds, we’ll be fine!’ John groans, staring the guitarist up and down. ‘What are you doing?’

  
‘Signalling for a car.’ He frantically flaps his arms at a campervan, the bassist sighing. 

  
‘That isn’t how you do it!’ Brian stands back as John steps over to the edge of the road, flattening his hair down before calmly raising his hand up at an approaching Triumph 1500. To the surprise of the rest of us, the grey saloon pulls up next to us, the young woman at the wheel smiling at us. ‘Evening, miss. If you’re not too busy, would you mind giving me and my friends a lift to IKEA? We’ll pay you and I _promise_ we’re not axe murderers.’

  
Her grin widens as she adjusts her glasses with a giggle and unlocks the doors.

  
‘Of course, I pass IKEA on my way home. And I know you’re not murderers, too busy being rock stars for that!’ I cringe and John giggles slightly, his hand hovering around his mouth as he slips into the front seat. 

  
‘Deacy, I have the longest legs!’ Brian snaps.

  
‘It’s okay, my seat is far forward.’ The girl snickers, not even looking at who’s she’s talking to; too busy gazing at the bassist next to her. The brunette doesn’t meet her eyes, just smiles bashfully, looking into his lap. I roll my eyes before Freddie shoves me into the car after Brian, the leather seats warm against my chilly damp legs. 

  
‘Yes, Roger here was hit by a puddle. Sorry he’s ruining your car, darling.’ 

  
‘It’s alright... quite like the idea of a drummer wrecking _something_ of mine in the backseat.’ The two men I’m stuck between hiccup, John stifling a laugh, wide eyed. ‘Sorry you had to hear that!’ She pats my friend’s knee. 

  
‘You don’t want him ruining anything, trust me. He’s really messy.’ John murmurs, eyes squinting in confusion. 

  
‘Oh, I’d like that Roger!’ I smirk at her, winking playfully. 

  
‘Why? You’d need to buy new seats?’ The bassist frowns, eyes wide and puzzled. The girl sniggers, patting his knee again.

  
‘Oh, John Deacon! Quiet, shy and innocent! Bet I could change that...’

  
I try not to snort or correct her, mainly because Freddie keeps cooing at the ‘innocent’ expression on his Deaky’s face, seemingly forgetting how the brunette has just watched us burn down a hotel room and not given a fraction of a shit. He knows _exactly_ what this girl is trying to do and say to him – he’s just not giving her any satisfaction.

  
After ten minutes of the girl shamelessly flirting with John and I, we arrive outside a large blue warehouse, the ‘Cwsmer/Customer’ car park almost completely empty. 

  
‘So... is a tenner okay?’ John smiles, flipping open the satchel.

  
‘Perfect!’ She grabs the note the second he takes it out, her fingertips lingering on his for a few moments. ‘You have _very_ lovely hands.’

  
He shakes his head, pulling his hand away and clumsily opens the passenger door. _Oh, come on_. John can steal a car whilst the owner if still sat on the bonnet, he knows how to open a door. The girl laughs again, awwing as we get out the car and waves goodbye before she drives away. John bows almost, raising his hand to his mouth before turning to us, pausing. Scoffing, he folds his arms, a gust of wind blowing all his hair to the left.

  
_‘What?’_

  
‘You’re a little shit, you know that?’ I huff, linking my arm through his. ‘Watch an inferno, snap at us down the street... girl turns up, ‘ _oh, bashful innocent little Deaky, oh I don’t understand sexy comments, oh bashful,’_ then you get out the car and, _‘you what bitch?’’_

  
_‘_ Y’know, you’d look a lot more beautiful if you didn’t have any skin on.’

  
We approach the front entrance in silence, trying to block out the funny looks we’re getting and the occasional wolf whistle and head up to the reception desk where a short man in a cream jacket is stood. 

  
‘Hello there, lads and... _yes_ lads.’ 

  
‘Yes, are we allowed around here? My friend here had a slight accident with a puddle.’ John tries a smile, the man at the desk staring at me.

  
‘It would be a little strange... a naked-’

  
‘I’ve got pants on.’ I confirm, clocking how jittery John’s becoming. ‘You okay, John?’

  
A small sob breaks out, grey eyes turning glassy. 

  
_‘Please!’_ John wails, meeting the receptionist’s eyes. ‘We... we damaged the beds of the _o-only_ place we h-had! _Please!_ We n-n-need beds, to repay the woman... please.’

  
Never knew he was this good at acting.

  
‘No... don’t cry.’ The man begs, looking between us and the filthy looks he’s getting from his co-workers. ‘We’ll let you in. It’s perfectly legal in this country. Its three quarters of an hour until we close so we’re not busy.’

  
The brunette stops sobbing, hand over his mouth, all doe eyed.

  
‘Thank you, sir!’ He rasps, leading me over to where our friends have got a trolley. Freddie gasps dramatically when he sees the tears on the bassist’s face. 

  
‘Oh, Deaky what’s wrong!’

  
‘Nothings he’s just being a little shit.’ I roll my eyes and we head into the first part of the store, the heating a blessed relief for my poor skin. The first department is the beds – thankfully – and John being his anal self, meant we found the exact same bunk beds in a matter of moments. 

  
‘See, Brian. Said we’d be fine.’ He says, smugly, jotting down several things I don’t understand on a blue slip of paper and nabbing about 20 paper rulers from a hook.

  
None of us dare let him drive the trolley, and I don’t trust myself - not after the Sainsbury’s Incident last year. Freddie is almost immediately distracted in the kitchen department, opening every cupboard and pressing all the buttons he can find, curious little eyes darting around like an over excited toddler. He’s supposed to be the eldest.

  
‘Freddie, we don’t have long to get out here.’ Brian grabs the singer’s arm just as he’s about to go headfirst into a dishwasher.

  
‘But it’s tempting!’

  
‘You’ll get us thrown out... we barely got in here in the first place.’ 

  
If I _wasn’t_ in nothing but Animal pants, I would also be diving into the cupboards to see how many drawers and compartments the Swedes could fit in there, but what if I get stuck? Bare legs kicking out of a hidden fridge until I run out of air, found dead hours later by the tiny man at the counter. That’d be an interesting headline.

  
It’s like the TARDIS this warehouse, a disturbing amount of rooms in one room in one massive room. This place is messing with my head – the plates are floating. By the time we get to the miscellaneous bit, a fog has encompassed my brain and just looking at Freddie prancing around using a fluorescent green mop as a microphone is tiring me. 

  
‘Guys.’ I flop down onto a plastic chair, a loud snap ringing out before I slam against the floor. _‘Shit..._ god! I’m tired, I’m wet and I’m just plain...’

  
I trail off as my gaze lands on the next doorway - what’s through it makes me spring to my feet, wide awake. 

  
‘Wait... _boys!’_ Freddie gasps, staring into the room. ‘We’ve taken a wrong turn.’

  
‘We’re on a one-way system, you twat.’ John mumbles, not looking up from the incredibly interesting invisible thing he’s spotted on the ground.

  
‘Then why am I looking at beds?’ The singer points into the department, panicked and shaky. ‘Seriously, there isn’t another door.’

  
‘Oh, come there is.’ I glance around the store, a sense of dread rising up inside of me. ‘There _must_ be... we’re nearly at the exit now, surely.’ Stealing yet more paper rulers, John gestures for us to keep moving, sticking rather close to me. ‘What’s wrong?’

  
‘Something just feels off.’ The bassist quivers, suddenly appearing smaller and more withdrawn. ‘We haven’t taken a wrong turn. Also, Roger you were right, we’ve been walking for _ages,_ we must....’ He freezes, Brian expertly steering the trolley around him. 

  
‘Deacy don’t do that!’

  
‘Do any of you know how long we’ve been in here?’ John glances at the three of us, expectant, mild terror in his eyes. At first, I don’t understand, neither it seems do Fred and Bri who just stare back at our friend in confusion. 

  
Then there’s a click, something behind us flashing. The lights are turning off. One row at a time, darkness approaches us, the furniture and aisles of tupperware plunging into the shadows. Freddie and Brian don’t hesitate, the two dashing off into the brightness of the bedroom-room. A strong hand graps onto mine and I pull us into the corner, John ducking behind me as the warehouse goes pitch black and silent. Silky hair brushes against my back, my friend sitting up, resting his forehead on my shoulder and breathing heavily.

  
‘Scared of the dark?’ I whisper.

  
‘No. I’m scared of getting lost and trapped.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4000 words of... I don't even know. I don't know how long this will be or how long it will take for me to do but I hope it was enjoyed.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, this is just 4000 words of probably too much dialouge and four boys wandering around in the dark.  
> I will say that I don’t believe any of the characters mentioned actually have any opinions mentioned or would commit any actions mentions. My plots come from dreams and memes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing, sex references, mentions of death and violence.

We spend way too long huddled up in the corner, the entire time made worse by something sharp sticking into the side of my head from a shelf. My eyes still haven’t adjusted to the dark (not that they’ve ever adjusted to light either) so I daren’t let go of John’s arm, not wanting to be left in the dark alone. He’s gone quiet, gentle breaths and sleek hair swishing against my front the only thing telling me he’s alive. It’s not that easy to die – is it? 

  
I’m not sure when the bassist migrated around so he was in front of me, or if he’s facing me or not. Then again, John’s smart enough not to put the one with the eyesight of a mole in a jam jar on lookout. Not sure what we’d be looking for, exactly, or what we’re even doing at the moment. 

  
Scratch that – what are we _going_ to do now. I wasn’t prepared for this; I didn’t think this is how I’d finish today. I mean, what are we meant to do now, in this empty IKEA in pitch darkness without any heating, on a freezing cold September night in the middle of nowhere with no means of contact to people? Wish I’d encouraged John a little more and convinced him to let us run away from the B&B, or that the man at the counter didn’t let me in because of my lack of clothing. Fuck it, I wish that the girl in the Triumph _did_ get into mine and John’s pants because that way we’d be somewhere warm in Cardiff. 

  
Actually, no I don’t. That girl was creepy... and that car had a suspiciously strong whiff of pine air freshener. So does this corner of the warehouse, in fact. 

  
There’s a few clicking noises around us, echoing through the expanse of darkness and an alarming knocking noise above us as every hair on my arm stands up. Don’t think South Wales has earthquakes... Shuddering, I cross my arms over my chest and bring my knees up, my cold skin stinging the gashes on my hands. However, that’s not the reason for my scream.

  
‘I can’t feel... I can’t feel _anything_ – John, I’m freezing to death!’

  
‘Roger get off me or you’ll be _bleeding_ to death.’ There’s a kick to my ankle, as something itches my torso, relief washing over me.

  
‘Oh, it’s okay the feelings back now.’ Another kick. ‘I’m not dying.’

  
‘You will be in a second.’

  
Confused, I curl against myself more, desperate to get some feeling to all four limbs. My thigh’s feel trapped, my shins tingling against a rough fabric of some kind and it’s as if there’s a blockage between my arms and chest. I decide to just remain still, curling up tighter and pat around the area next to me, searching for John. I’m not the only one.

  
‘Deacy?’ There’s the faraway clacking of clogs before a beam of light shines through the aisles. ‘Roger, Freddie?’

  
‘Bri?’ I screech, a sigh coming from somewhere.

  
‘That was _right_ in my ear, you twat.’ There’s more writhing against me, the weight on my lap shifting and yet another boot to my shin. 

  
‘Guys?’ The footsteps get louder, the light swooping around the room. _‘Rog?’_

  
‘Over here.’ I yell again, a sharp jab being delivered to my ribs. I let out a cry at that.

  
‘Sorry, just can you _stop bloody deafening me_.’ 

  
‘Rog, was that you? Are you okay?’ The torchlight comes closer, inches from me and the faint but distinct outline of my friend comes into view. In the distance, a dim greenish yellow glow travels down the room, a shadowy figure behind it. Suddenly, there’s a shriek next to me.

  
‘Let go of me, now!’ The wriggling against me turns into thrashing, as the brunette sounds increasingly out of breath. ‘It’s not _funny!’_

  
‘Deaky, where are you?’ The travelling glow speeds towards us as the torch beam darts around the room. It still doesn’t land on me, and I hold whatever it is I’m holding closer, savouring the warmth from the movement.

  
 _‘Roger.’_ John growls and one of my hands slip, the bassist squealing as my fingers entangle in long, soft hair. Frowning, I trail my other hand up, realising it’s a person I’m holding when my fingertips trace across dry lips and over a long nose. A disgruntled whine rings out and strong hands slam onto my shoulders, bands of icy metal pressing against my skin. 

  
My hand leaves their face and back to their shoulder and I wrap my arm around a squirming skinny frame, denim scratching against my chest and thighs as I feel someone’s face against my neck. 

  
Brian and Freddie’s shouts for us get louder and more frantic, the green shine and torchlight flying everywhere as their pounding footsteps get closer. Then I’m blinded by the torch shining in my eyes, the weight on top of me shivering.

  
‘There they – _fuck!’_ Freddie screams as I adjust to the brightness, only to be met by my two bandmates, their jaws dropped and the singer’s brown eyes glaring. ‘What have you done?’ 

  
Slowly, I drop my gaze down, the obvious finally clicking.   
Laying across my torso, holding onto my shoulders with his face buried against my neck if a trembling John. I don’t know if he’s shaking because of the cold or fear, seeing as I’m pinning him against my body. I’m also clinging onto his hair which can’t help, and neither can my legs being wrapped around his. 

  
‘Shit, sorry!’ I free him from my grasp; however, he remains on top of me. ‘John?’ The bassist shifts a little, pressing me against the wall. ‘What are you doing?’

  
‘Not nice is it?’ He snaps before letting go of me and standing, one leg either side of my waist as he glares down at me. ‘You _know_ I hate confined spaces. Also, a screaming idiot, who’s stronger than me, shrouding me in his sweaty flesh, in the pitch darkness... Does. Not. Help!’

  
‘Sorry it’s just...’ I slip out from under his stance, my legs tingling from their new found freedom. ‘You were warm.’

  
‘So is a microwave – want that dropped on your head?’ 

  
‘Alright, darling.’ A green and yellow lava lamp rises up next to the brunette, a slender hand running up his arm before Freddie rubs his shoulder. John sighs, folding his arms as Freddie steadies the trolley he’s stood on.

  
‘Fred.’ I begin, shakily standing as the lava lamp flickers, Brian wandering over.

  
‘How is that thing still on?’ The guitarist shakes his head at Freddie, switching off the lamp. ‘Don’t want us setting fire to anything else.’

  
‘Can we set fire to Roger?’ John bats the singer’s hand away, nabbing the torch from Brian. ‘The way the lights went off probably means there’s a master switch... hang on, where did you get the torch?’

  
‘From the satchel.’ John spins on his heels, pointing the torch directly at the guitarist’s face. 

  
_‘My_ satchel?’ The bassist snarls, glancing at the torch. ‘This was at the bottom of it! You went _through_ it? That’s some intense rifling.’

  
‘Yes. Also, Deacy, why do you have handcuffs, extension leads and a crowbar in there?’ The brunette marches over to Brian, snatching the bag from him. 

  
‘Did you touch the hobnobs?’ He slings the strap over his shoulder as Brian remains silent. ‘Did you?’ More silence. ‘Bastard.’

  
‘Right! Now that we’ve regrouped, have either of you got any idea what we’re meant to do now?’ I interject, not wanting Justice for Biscuits War II to break out. ‘Bri, John?’

  
‘Oi, what about me?’ Freddie snaps, switching the lava lamp back on, the globules inside wobbling.

  
‘Fred, you’re the one that got us in this mess.’ John gestures at the lamp. ‘And none of us are going to take advice from a 30-year-old stood in a trolley wielding a preserved glow worm that’s going to burst into flames and second.’ 

  
‘Why have you got any better ideas, darling?’ Huffing, Freddie switches off the lamp, dumping it into the trolley before turning to Brian. ‘You’re the smart one.’  
Before the guitarist can say anything, John scoffs.

  
‘Excuse me, which one of us got you out of a portaloo you we’re trapped in?’ He glares at Freddie before looking to me. ‘And got you out the van when you locked yourself in... and saved all of us when someone,’ Angry grey eyes flick over the singer again, ‘pressed every button in a lift and got us stuck. Then proceeded to jump around in it the next day, trapping us again and, y'know, I had to pay for ‘damaging the button panel’ even though I _neatly_ removed it.’

  
‘In fairness, all of us were jumping – including you, and it took you ten minutes to stop crying from being in the lift... Deaky, why are you being such a tit today?’

  
‘Both of you, shut up.’ I stand between the two and take the torch from the bassist, flicking it around the room until I find an exit to the room. ‘Freddie, get out the trolley, and have thought of anything, Bri?’

  
‘Yes, just wait until the morning? There’s beds, sleep in them and in the morning explain.’

  
‘We got lost on a one-way system in the light, how the fuck are we meant to find the beds with nothing but a petrol station wind-up torch and a lava lamp?’ John nabs the torch from me again. 

  
‘Can I have a go with the torch now?’ Fred asks, climbing out the trolley. ‘Anyway, dear, what are you thinking?’

  
Before the bassist can say anything, Brian holds a hand up at him.

  
‘If you suggest blowing up _anything,_ us three are abandoning you in here right now, without this.’ He takes the torch again, John rolling his eyes.

  
‘I wasn’t going to suggest that... Just thinking we’re not too high up and the room through there has beds. Tie the sheets together and, y’know, abseil-’

  
‘NO!’ Bri and Freddie scream as I keep my gaze locked on John.

  
‘Not a bad idea.’ I muse, the brunette cocking his head at me.

  
‘See, it’s a perf- _no,_ we need to get the beds, they’re on the ground floor.’

  
‘That wasn’t the _main_ flaw in your plan, Deacy.’ The guitarist points the torch to the exit... well, where we thought the exit was. ‘Rog, do you remem-’

  
‘No, I’m _sure_ it was there.’ Just as I’m about to take the light, Freddie leaps at us, knocking the torch out his hand. ‘Get it!’ The beam flashes around everywhere as the torch clatters on the floor, flickering before going out. ‘Well done, Fred!’

  
It’s completely dark again, and for a brief moment quiet. Brief moment.

  
‘Boys?’ Freddie squeals from within the darkness. ‘Anyone?’

  
‘I’m over here.’ I flail my arms in front of me, hoping to find something or someone.

  
‘Well that’s helpful, Rog.’ Bri sighs. ‘Anyway, we were stood close, can anyone grab my hand?’

  
‘No, I ran after the torch.’ The singer does sound distant. ‘It was my turn to have it, okay!’

  
‘What does that even mean?’ I yell, my hand grazing over soft fabric. ‘Bri?’ As I step forward, my toe slams into metal, several fluffy objects falling on my head. Screeching, I grab my foot, hopping back before knocking against another shelf. This time the shelf grabs me.

  
‘Roger?’ There’s scratching on my front then satin clad legs wrap around me and somebody jumps onto my back. ‘Is that you?’

  
‘Yes, who else is running around IKEA half naked?’ I steady myself, my foot bitterly aching, clinging onto the frontman’s arms so he doesn’t fall off. 

  
‘Say it’s more 90 percent naked.’ Brian quips from within the gloom as a scraping noise rings out. _‘Shit._ Boys, stay where you are, I’m nearly with you.’ Footsteps approach us before long fingers brush over my face. ‘Rog?’

  
‘I can’t take your hand, Fred’s on me.’ There’s a cry of pain in front of me as the singer shifts on my back.

  
‘I’ve got him!’

  
‘Fred, get off my hair.’ Brian whines, Freddie finally getting down off me and linking an arm through mine. 

  
‘Lovely, back as a – hang on where’s John?’ I freeze at my friend’s words, realising we haven’t even heard a squeak from the bassist during the torch debacle. Speaking of which, we haven’t found the torch either. Not that this is what Freddie’s worrying about, seeing as he’s now screaming out for John. 

  
‘Well, he’s not got a reeking, sweaty Roger attached to him so we should be okay.’ Brian mutters.

  
‘I heard that.’ I growl, gingerly limping forward, hissing at my toe, and tug the singer along with me before gasping. ‘He doesn’t like confined spaces. I know he got us out the lift those times but-’

  
‘How is this place confined?’ Freddie snaps, shouting out for the bassist again. 

  
‘But when it’s dark it can feel... small and... cramped.’ My breaths quicken - I’m panicking a little now, the pain in my toe suddenly not important. ‘Especially when you’re somewhere new.’

  
‘And alone.’ Brian adds, the three of us pausing. The only sound is our breaths and Freddie tapping his boot on the floor, nervous. Wouldn’t think there was anyone else here. ‘Right, does anyone have any idea which way we came from? In the lift he froze up for a while might be-’

  
‘No, I just ran in the general direction of the torch,’ Freddie quivers next to me, ‘and from the sound of things, Rog was too busy crashing into everything.’

  
‘Let’s just, start walking and I’m sure we’ll find him.’ I stare ahead into the void. ‘Can either of you see anything?’ 

  
‘Outlines.’ Bri sighs, a hand wrapping around my wrist. I shake him off and link my arm through his.

  
 _‘Listen_ out for John Deacon.’ I repeat, shaking my head. ‘I once woke up in the middle of the night for a drink and nearly shat myself when I switched on the light and he was just there.’

  
‘Yeah, he did that to me in the flat even in the day. Turn around and _ta-dah_ there’s Deacy.’

  
‘No, not at the flat! At my fucking house, last year. Went into the kitchen and he was sat on the side.’ 

  
I snort at the memory – John perched on the counter, cup of tea balanced on his lap and nibbling on a piece of toast, terrifying me half to death at 2AM. He just nodded at me when I saw him, fluffed up hair falling in front of his face, peering over at me with innocent eyes as if _I_ was the one intruding. I was too tired at the time to say anything, so just got my water and went back to bed, but he was still there the next morning, this time making breakfast for us. 

  
‘Maybe you didn’t hear him because you were asleep, darling. Anyway, you did, kind of, live together at that time.’

  
‘Not at the time! That day is the reason I let him move in.’ I sigh, giggling slightly. Brian jerks my arm, dragging me forward as we start walking. 

  
‘I was going to tell him to fuck off and terrorise you two instead, but, turns out he knows how to cook without using a microwave, and keeps the place tidy. Also, knows how to fix things and pointed out the central heating was about to blow. And told me there was a fridge.’

  
Why did I tell them that last part?

  
‘So, he wasn’t a house mate but a servant.’ Brian pauses. ‘You bought a house and didn’t know there was a fridge.’

  
‘It was hiding!’ I sniff, before huffing. ‘Spent loads on the other one as well.’

  
‘Wait, I’m missing something. Why did Deaky turn up at yours in the night? Wasn’t hurt or-’ 

  
‘Got evicted, apparently. Said I wouldn’t nanny him like you would.’ I snicker. ‘He tried yours, Bri, but your door was open so he figured you’d been killed already.’

  
‘Why are you telling us this, Rog?’

  
‘Well, what I’m saying is we’re not going to hear him.’ I’d nearly forgotten that was asked too. ‘Will only know we’ve found him when we crash into him or-’

  
‘When I said ‘listen out,’ I meant for banging noises and explosions when he inevitably blows the bloody doors off – _don’t.’_

  
‘Also, those boots do make a noise.’ Freddie adds, bumping into me and unlinking our arms. ‘Sorry.’ That was muffled.

  
Then there’s a confident _click_ behind me, and heat on my back. Brian and I pause, and I slowly turn around, the bright white light from Freddie’s lighter illuminating his concerned face, a cigarette held expertly between his lips. Flicking the lighter shut, the seemingly oblivious frontman casually holds the cigarette between his fingers before swallowing thickly. Behind him, Brian glowers and unlinks their arms, tapping our friend on the shoulder.

  
‘What?’

  
‘How long have you had that?’ I say, gritting my teeth.

  
‘About three months. The other one-’

  
‘No, I mean tonight!’ I wail. ‘You don’t have pockets.’

  
‘I brought an emergency pack and lighter down my pants.’ He shrugs, taking another drag. ‘Want one?’

  
‘...yes.’

  
‘Sorry, they’re mine.’ I huff at him. 

  
‘The cigarettes weren’t what we were asking about.’ Brian hesitates. ‘Well, not me anyway. But the lighter.’

  
‘I know, dear. Quite risky to have a flammable device near your testes, but-’

  
‘No, Fred.’ The guitarist groans. ‘Think about it... lighter. _Light!’_

  
There’s a pause before it finally clicks.

  
‘Oh.’ Freddie takes out the lighter again. ‘Yeah, that didn’t cross my mind.’

  
‘Evident.’ I snap and reach for the lighter with my free hand, keeping hold of Brian’s arm so I – _hold on._

  
Freddie linked arms with Brian, then with me on my right, then later the guitarist must have let go of Fred and linked with me so I should be in the middle. But I’m not, Freddie is and Brian’s next to him, furious. Who am I linking arms with?

  
Screeching, I flick on the lighter and turn to my left, lighting up a pale and blank expression. The three of us scream at John’s sudden appearance.

  
‘When did you get there?'

  
‘When I linked arms with you. You three make a racket, y’know, you’re easy to find.’

  
‘Could have, I don’t know, said you were here.’ Brian grimaces at Freddie’s smoke and wanders to John’s side and slips his arm through his.

  
‘Don’t touch me.’ The bassist unlinks from Brian and I, stepping out in front of us. ‘There were candles down one of these aisles, get a few and go from there.’

  
‘Go where?’ I jog a little to catch up and walk alongside him. He doesn’t answer. 

  
We continue through the aisles, John and I checking each one for candles until finally a strong combination of smells punches us in the face. A familiar combination of smells, pine standing out the most.

  
‘Have we come full circle?’ I sigh, handing the lighter to the brunette and picking up a green candle, realising something. ‘Wait, what about the wax.’

  
‘There’s lantern thingies here.’ Brian hands us each a small metal and glass cage, fitting his with a yellow candle as I light mine, the scent of mint floating up. Not for long though as it’s overpowered by berries. 

  
‘Yours is going to look like a murder scene when it melts, Freddie.’ John smirks, nodding at the red candle flickering through the glass as he lights up his light blue one, sniffing before peering at the shelf again. ‘Frankincense.’

  
‘I thought frankincense was a magical substance of legend, like myrrh.’

  
‘Roger, you _know_ myrrh exists, it’s in that scrub I got you. Anyway, with that logic, gold doesn’t exist either!’

  
‘Mine doesn’t smell of anything.’ Brian frowns, staring down at his candle. ‘Also, I think you should go and do whatever you’re doing, Deacy, and us three will find the beds.’

  
‘No, I’m staying with him.’ I retort, linking arms with John who’s studying the candles on the shelf. ‘You’ve already got about ten cupboards worth of that shit, don't get any more, please.’

  
‘They’re really nice though!’

  
‘Hang on, Deacy, you get those two idiots things made of myrrh and shiny things and I get a gag gift.’

  
‘He got you a car!’ Freddie reasons as John and I dissolve into giggles.

  
‘Yes, that those two cocks lowered the roof on so only people under 5’’11 could get in!’

  
Cackling, I gently tug on the bassist’s arm, him leading us over to the wall.

  
‘In theory, if we follow the wall, we should find the exit.’ He glances over at Freddie and Brian. ‘I’ve taken your plan into consideration, and decided not to follow it.’

  
‘We are _not_ abseiling, Deacy!’

  
‘I know. We’re going to get the beds from the ground floor and use the crowbar on the exit. Leave the money for them and a note and get back to the woman.’  
The three of us stop and think through our friend’s suggestion, and I kind of wait for Brian to find a flaw. I still don’t see one in the abseiling thing, the beds can’t be that heavy, they’re in a thousand pieces.

Wait...

‘Does anyone remember the name of the B&B?’ I ask, Freddie and Bri looking over in fear. 

  
‘No... can’t remember the town.’ The guitarist looks to John. ‘You’re the anal one, surely you noticed.’

  
‘I’m not anal, just observant and worried about being kidnapped.’ He says, casually. ‘It was called ‘Leek West Cottage’ or something like that. Definitely the name of somewhere you’d see on the news after bodies have been unearthed from the patio.’

  
‘Why are you so convinced she’s a murderer?’ Brian shakes his head at the bassist. He doesn’t respond, just continuities down the wall. 

  
It was a good idea to follow it as we quickly find the doorway... but not the one we wanted.

  
‘How did we get back to the kitchens?’ I wail, holding my glowing _After Eight_ up to the cupboards above a counter. ‘It’s as if the warehouse is moving around us!’

  
‘No, we’ve just gone the wrong way, keep following the wall.’ John entwines his fingers with mine, squinting in the candlelight that only just lights up his face, and drags me along. 

  
We continue down the edge for quite some time, everything becoming quite disorientating. Also, our two bandmates have gone unusually quiet. Eventually, a gap in the wall appears, John and I sharing a relieved look, our newly found calmness almost instantly being snatched away by the oven across from us, the door falling open and bouncing on its hinges, squeaking.

  
‘Don’t fucking laugh at us!’ I charge over and kick it shut, screaming when a bolt of pain shoots up my spine. 

  
‘Roger you twat.’ The brunette pulls me back, and I hop over, clinging to his shoulder. ‘You’re not using me as a support. Might as well ring my clothes out on the chips from the canteen, you’ve wiped enough salty skin piss on them.’

  
‘Skin piss?’

  
‘You sweat from places I didn’t even know someone could sweat from.’ He looks down at his dungarees in disgust. ‘And your pants were on me too, that’s worse!’

‘How is my sweat the problem, when this warehouse has kidnapped us?’ My friend studies the wall, running his hand down it. ‘What are you doing?’ A mischievous smile breaks out across his dimly lit face and he reaches into the satchel, setting his lantern down.

  
‘Can you hold yours around here.’ John glances up at me, gesturing to the wall with a screwdriver. Slightly worried, I hold out the _After Eight_ lamp before the bassist jams the tool into the plaster, dragging it down and leaving a large gash in the wall, exposing a nest of wires and pipes. I just watch, growing more and more frightened of how strategically John is stabbing the wall, and how void of expression he is. 

‘And you say the woman is like a murderer.’

  
‘I’m not a murderer, I just lost my ability to be sympathetic and caring after a day with you.’ _Harsh._ ‘Anyway, I’m too busy to worry about hiding a body.’

  
I decide to not say anything else, not wanting to encourage him or be any more unsettled. He says shit like that all the time, almost exclusively to us three, and I can never tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. I decided the first day he moved into our flat, five years ago, that I’d take everything as sarcasm. Otherwise I’d be sleeping with the light on and wouldn’t have been so blasé when he turned up at my house in the dead of night. Certainly, wouldn’t be stood here, now, holding a candle whilst he wields a screwdriver. He’d never physically hurt someone though, i don’t think, and he is caring - I’ve seen him cry over stepping on one of Freddie’s cats. 

  
‘So, what are you doing?’ I repeat as he tears some of the plaster away until he reaches a box hidden away in the wall. 

  
‘Looking for this.’ He grins, taking out a screw in the wall before removing a pane, revealing a board of metal and flashy things I don’t understand. After a short while and a lot of fiddling later, he gazes up at me with excited eyes. 

  
‘You like this. don’t you?’ My friend nods eagerly, before delicately flicking something on the board, the shocking brightness blinding me. A hand wraps around mine as my eyes adjust, meeting a smirking John before he blows out his candle. I look up at the white light above us. ‘Is the whole warehouse lit up now?’ I ask, looking back to the bassist who nods, and put out my candle, minty smoke wafting up. ‘Nice. He’s a genius isn’t he, guys-’ 

  
I turn around, freezing when I don’t see Brian or Freddie.

  
 _‘Roger...’_ John hisses, batting my arm. ‘How did they get here?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how lights and IKEA'S lights work so this might have been inaccurate. I don’t know what I’m writing, feel free to bail out now. Next chapter everything is kicking off. Hopefully.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6000 (how did this get to 6000 words?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence - lots - swearing, insults, death references, murder reference, verbal abuse of IKEA.  
> If you found the last two chapters too stupid and OTT, leave now or you may need to bleach your brain.

A few years ago, at a show somewhere, I invited a girlfriend along to watch - forgetting that I’d already asked my _other_ girlfriend to see us too. After this gig, I went off for a piss and when I came out the bathroom both girls were stood outside, arms folded whilst Freddie watched on cackling. They looked furious and I was amazed I got out of the theatre alive.

  
My point is, I always thought I knew true fear and had already been met by the most terrifying sight known to man. I was wrong. 

  
True fear is turning around to laugh with your friends, only to be met by two stony faced employees of the store you’re _not_ supposed to be in, after your friend has fucked up the wall with a screwdriver he’s _still_ holding. Strangely, said screwdriver wielder isn’t as terrified as me.

  
‘Oh. Hello sir,’ John nods at the short man staring me up anddown, ‘madam,’ the bassist smiles at the redheaded girl in glasses. 

  
They don’t answer us, just keep staring. Something cold is pressed into my hand as John lumbers me with the screwdriver, sending me a warning look, and takes a step towards the two.

  
‘You see, we came in just before closing and my friends got us lost and we got locked in.’ He continues, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, one finger wrapped around the satchel straps. ‘We just needed to get beds, and were just trying to get out again. We were going to leave the money for the beds, candles and...’ He cocks his head back at the wall, ‘damages.’

  
‘How long have you been here?’ That girl’s voice is familiar... very familiar. 

  
Hold on. She’s the girl from the Triumph, the one that was flirting with John and I. She said she was going home, didn’t she? 

  
‘About... can’t be more than an hour.’ John gestures to me, beckoning me over. ‘Sorry about my friend... lost his clothes in an accident.’ I try a smile, standing next to the brunette and wave at the small man across from me – recognising him as the man who let us in here in the first place. 

  
John wraps an arm around my waist and takes the screwdriver, replacing it with a large metal bar. The employees don’t notice, I don’t think, as John slips the screwdriver in the satchel, placing it behind his back again. _What’s he planning?_

  
‘Is it just you?’ The redhead stands straighter, hands in her pockets. ‘Anyone else?’

  
‘Yes, but I think they got out.’ John replies, nudging me. I try not to react, quite confused to what he’s going on about. Have they got out? Then the two employee’s faces soften, giggling a little.

  
‘Then we can show you the way out.’ The girl laughs, her name tag wobbling. It reads ‘Jenkins.’

  
Jenkins – I presume –turns around, the man next to her whispering something in her ear. I look across to John.

  
_‘Trust them_?’ I mouth, John shaking his head.

  
‘Do not lose me or that crowbar,’ He hisses, following the people, slowly producing a packet of hobnobs from the satchel. ‘I’ll offer, you batter.’ 

  
Before I can ask why, he approaches the employees, and I stay a few paces behind as he dashes around infront of them, walking backwards and holds out the biscuits. 

  
‘Hobnob?’ He glances to the ground and does a nervous little bow, his free hand hovering around his mouth. They both thank him and take one, the bassist meeting my gaze and quickly nodding. I presume that’s my cue. 

  
My cue for what seems quite unnecessary.

  
Brandishing the crowbar, I charge forward, eyes locked on the girl’s curly hair. As John steps back, I crash the tool down onto her head, sending her to the ground before swinging it down and to the side, knocking the short man in the side of the head. I lower the crowbar, letting out a heavy breath and look over to my friend... who’s frantically hurtling over to me.

  
‘What’s-’

  
He wrenches the crowbar from my grasp, pushing past me. There’s a thud and I spin around, just as the brunette is wandering back to me - an unconscious young man in a yellow and blue shirt lying on the ground. The crowbar is thrust back into my hand before he crouches next to the small man, taking a set of keys out his pocket.

  
‘John, why have we just knocked three IKEA employees out?’ I ask, slightly shocked about what I’ve just done. Well, what _we've_ done.

  
‘Look around, Roger.’ John sighs, standing again. ‘Who do you not see?’ My gaze darts around the room, at the various ovens and fridges, before it dawns on me.

  
‘Where are Fred and Bri?’ I gasp. 

  
‘We lost them the first time we came in this bit’ The bassist points to the wall. ‘If Brian was following us, he’d have knocked that screwdriver out my hand the moment I produced it, and before that restrained you from kicking the oven.’

  
‘Freddie!’ I squeal, dread rising in me. ‘He’d be tearing around here by now.’

  
‘Exactly. And he’d have helped you with the oven attack.’ John tugs my arm, leading me through the kitchens. ‘When I joined you three earlier, it took five minutes for you to realise it was me. We were being followed by someone and it wasn’t Freddie and Brian-’

  
‘But the Triumph girl and the receptionist.’ I interject, realising that our mate’s candles had disappeared a while ago. That still isn’t what’s on my mind though.

‘Wait... you still haven’t answered my question.’

  
‘Yeah we knocked them out because just before I found you three, I was ambushed by that other employee who had a knife.’

  
I splutter, grabbing John and turning him to face me.

  
‘You knew there was a guy in here with a knife and didn’t think to tell us?’ I growl, staring him dead in the eyes. 

  
‘Though it was best we got light.’ He shrugs. 

  
‘I...’ I run my hand through my hair, huffing. ‘Why did you wait for light?’

  
‘I think it’s less scary being chased by a lunatic in the light than in darkness.’

  
‘No, it isn’t, because then you can _see_ the terrifying IKEA employee that’s chasing you!’ I exclaim, letting go of the bassist and folding my arms.

  
‘Yes, and then we know to run away?’ He places his hands on his hips, sighing. ‘Anyway, we’ve got light now, have discovered you are good at attacking people and are both prepared to fend off knife wielding Welshmen.’ I glare at him, only to receive one back. ‘Let’s just, find Brian and Freddie, get the beds and get out. If we come across trouble I’ll distract and you can-’

  
‘I’m not hitting any more people over the head with a crowbar.’ 

  
‘Fine I’ll hit them with the crowbar and you distract them.’ Taking the weapon from me, the bassist marches off and I jog after him. ‘Actually,’ he turns on his heels and hands it back to me, ‘when we tell those two our plan-’

  
_‘Your_ plan!’

  
‘I know, but, when we tell them three IKEA employees have been knocked out, they’ll know it was you.’ I raise my brows, tilting my head. 

  
‘Thanks, just leave Brian to send me the disappointed mother look whilst Freddie attacks me for being aggressive around you – remember The Rainbow?’ My friend snorts, glancing at me, a little glint in his eyes. ‘ _Oh, Roger, darling, you are a cock! You’ve scared our Deaky to death.’_ John wheezes at my impression _. ‘Meanwhile, you applaud as I storm offstage_.’

  
‘I knew you were going to trash your kit from the second song.’ He sighs. 

  
Suddenly, he freezes, grabbing my arm to halt me to and shushes me. Just as I’m about to question him, there’s a loud clatter, both of us screeching. Instantly, we dash towards the noise. Weaving through the kitchen units and into the lounge department, John grips my hand tightly, leading me through some of the mock living rooms. Then brunette let’s go of my arm, flinching when he notices a faux moose head on the wall. 

  
‘Right, doubt Brian’s in here.’ He comments, glaring at the moose and stepping back out into the warehouse. ‘Where the hell are they?’

  
‘Is it worth calling out for them?’ I suggest, scanning the moose room for our bandmates.

  
‘No, you idiot, _they’d_ hear us.’ John motions for me to follow him and we head over to a room with brightly coloured inflatable furniture and abstract artworks on the walls, neon green and yellow cat themed ornaments everywhere. ‘Because every owner of a clawed animal requires blow up sofas.’

  
‘There’s cats, there’s paintings and ridiculous furniture.’ I look up, giggling when I see the gold chandelier. ‘I think this is what Freddie’s brain looks like.’

  
‘You cock, I’d _never_ own an inflatable _anything.’_ John and I grab hold of one another, screaming when the singer pops up from behind a shocking-pink armchair which he dramatically points at. ‘And this fucking thing is blinding me.’ Batting the offending object out the way, Freddie dashes over to us – well, not us just John. Pushing me back with one hand, he studies the bassist’s face.

  
‘Fred, where did you go?’

  
‘Well, I was following you two,’ _oh he has noticed me_ , ‘then Brian grabbed my arm and- where’s Brian?’

  
‘We were going to ask you-’

  
‘Not the point,’ John waves off our concerns, ‘Grab your arm... then what?’

  
‘Dragged me through what I think was the kitchen area, into this bit, then the lights came on-’

  
‘Still with Brian?’ I ask.

  
‘Yes, then we thought we saw you, Roger, but they had clothes on,’ John snorts then motions at Freddie.

  
‘Continue.’

  
‘So, we went to follow them, Brian went out in front and I just lost him. Dropped the candle in a panic and dived behind the nearest chair... no, not chair – nearest glamorized dinghy. Seriously, dears who the fuck would-’

  
A deafening bang fills the room, the three of us diving to floor. I tuck my head between my knees and wrap my arms around the back of my neck, eyes screwed shut. After a few moments of silence, I cautiously sit up, slowly looking around at the rags of fluorescent yellow... _whatever that is_ , strewn everywhere and to Freddie, who’s on top of a very peeved looking John, cradling him almost.

  
‘I’ve already been suffocated by one hysterical idiot today.’ He growls, wriggling out of Freddie’s hold. 

  
‘I was just trying to save you from... what was that?’ 

  
‘The sofa.’ There’s a groan from the left of me, followed by a small cough. I turn to the noise, met by a flustered Brian clutching a, now gone out, candle. ‘I was holding this next to a.... yeah.’

  
‘Thought you were the smart one?’ I sigh, getting back to my feet as the guitarist comes over. 

  
‘Smart but not _logical.’_ John snaps. ‘Anyway, glad we’ve found you.’

  
‘Are you?’ Brian glares at the bassist.

  
‘Glad we’ve found you, so Roger can warn you about the people he’s discovered.’

  
I say nothing, just gawp at him little, furrowing my brows. That boy is unbelievable.

  
‘People? We saw _someone,_ but...’ Bri trails off and gazes at me, expectant. So does Freddie... and the little shit stood behind him.

  
‘When John got the lights up, we found two employees. The man from the reception and the woman who drove us here.’ I begin, grey eyes warning me. ‘We panicked and I hit them with the crowbar.’

  
‘I was going to ask why you’re holding that.’ Freddie nods to the tool in my hand.

  
‘It’s his.’ I point to the all innocent looking John with the crowbar. ‘Then a third turned up and John hit him-’

  
‘Before he, y’know, got to Roger.’ Freddie smiles at the brunette, proudly. Is the employee debacle being pinned on me? I’m not being dropped in it like that.

‘Turns out, John had already come across some employees when we lost him, earlier.’ The singer’s expression falls and Brian shoots John a look. ‘And he had a knife. Apparently, it’s best to be chased by a lunatic when it’s light rather than dark though.’

  
‘We don’t know how many are out there.’ The brunette holds his hands up in defence. ‘Anyway, now we’ve regrouped and have a plan-’

  
‘What plan?’ Fred interrupts.

  
‘Bri and I distract, you and Roger bash them over the head with a crowbar or...’ He dashes out of the neon room and back to the moose, returning with a wooden cane, handing it to Freddie. ‘hit anyone posing a threat with this.’ Freddie promptly bops him on the nose with the cane, smirking. 

  
‘Just kidding, you’d never scare me Deaky.’

  
‘Really?’ I scoff, ‘Fred, what kind of steel are your-’ 

  
I’m cut off by Brian’s hand clamping over my mouth, loud shushing in my ear.

  
‘Someone’s coming.’ He hisses, releasing me from his hold before backing up. The four of us go quiet, footsteps echoing around us from all angles followed by indistinct murmurs. I hope the lights stay on. 

  
With that thought, I shuffle over to John and Freddie, huddling close to the singer who clings onto my arm.

  
_‘Will they kill us, Rog?’_

  
_‘How am I supposed to know?’_

  
There’s a sigh and John wanders away from us and out the room, Freddie squealing.

  
‘Darling, don’t go out!’ I glare at him as Brian dashes after our friend, leaving me with the noisy one. ‘Not you as well.’ 

  
He goes to follow but I grab him, shaking my head.

  
‘Don’t leave me in here, alone!’ That came out more screechy than I wanted. ‘Please, Freddie.’

  
‘But they’ll be killed, dear. we have the weapons not them.’ He cries, struggling against me. I wrap my arms around the singer, trying to stand my ground as he screams at me, desperately trying to follow our friends. Then my foot slips out in front of me, just as Freddie lunges forward, my leg threading between his and I slam against him, the two of us flying out the doorway. 

  
Fred hollers when we crash to the ground, glowering at me as if this was _my_ fault. Okay, I’m _partially_ to blame but he was the one screaming and trying to run off, leaving me to meet my demise at the hands of the IKEA employees, alone. He isn’t leaving me alone now– so we’ll be meeting our demise at the hands of the IKEA employees together.

  
There’s five of them, stood around us, sneering and brandishing fluffy white pillows and fold away chairs. My sweaty hand grips around the crowbar tightly as I stand, dragging Freddie up with me, glancing at each employee.

  
‘Evening.’ I nod, two of the men in the group slowly approaching us, ‘we’re just trying to get out of-’

  
‘Join us.’ The five of them speak in unison, the three women taking a step forward, Fred and I shuffling backwards. ‘Join us.’

  
They take another step with every chant, eyes wide with terrifying smiles plastered across their faces. My arms stop working – in fact my whole body seems to bail out on me, every muscle ignoring my brains shouts and begs and tensing up. All I can do is stand there - turning into some kind of fleshy statue of myself - and it seems Freddie’s the same. 

  
‘Join us... become one of us.’ 

  
‘What do you mean one of you?’ Freddie quivers before pausing. ‘Hold on, are you using this as an opportunity for a fucking job interview, dear?’ 

  
‘You accepted the job offer,’ one of the men stands closer to my friend, towering over him, ‘you arrived at staff training.’

  
‘It’s the middle of the night.’ I exclaim, suddenly not as frightened as I was before. This is probably just a mistake – maybe John jumped to conclusions earlier.

  
‘Yes... at midnight you’re employed. You need to go through... the loyalty test first.’ Fred and I hum in confusion. We can’t be employed here, last time Freddie and I worked in retail- let’s not go there. Anyway, we don’t have time.

  
‘No, I think there’s been a mistake,’ Freddie laughs, ‘we’ve already got jobs and very busy schedules. In fact, we need to be in London in a few days so kind of need to get out of here quick.’

  
‘You accepted the job offer.’ They repeat.

  
‘We came here and got _lost,’_ I sigh, ‘not accepted any offers. Sorry to have caused confu-’

  
‘IKEA offers you the job by inviting you into its world, you accept by staying.’

  
‘We didn’t _stay!’_ I snap, pulling Freddie backwards as they get closer. ‘We got lost. We will pay for the damaged stuff, medical bills and the sofa, my friend has...’ I trail off as rapid clacking rings out, accompanied by bellowing and something shattering. 

  
Through a gap in the group and furniture, another miscellaneous section is visible, accompanied by a low rumbling noise gradually getting louder until an office chair comes flying along, an unconscious person in an IKEA uniform slumped on the spinning seat. The employees in front of us turn to see the strangely majestic scene, just as the rumbling starts again - this time louder and heavier.

  
Three more chairs roll past, more employees clinging on for dear life as they spin; like a sort of a white-knuckle grown-up’s teacup ride, really. Then there’s another shout, just as one more uniformed man runs past.

  
‘Deacy, slow down!’ _Bri?_ Freddie and I screech, and I’m not sure if it’s of delight, terror or laughter when the guitarist appears, barely hanging onto a chair as a focused looking John pushes him along, forcefully. The latter notices us instantly, stopping in his tracks and letting go of the chair, which begins rolling away at quite an impressive speed, Brian still attached to it. ‘Deacy. _Deacy! John_!’ The brunette - unfazed by our friend’s peril – frantically waves at us.

  
‘Why are you just stood there – do something?’ He yells. 

  
‘You’ve sent our guitarist hurtling into oblivion!’ Freddie retorts, not getting a response from John who just darts off after Brian. He nudges me as the group faces us again, void of their creepy smiles. ‘ _Do something_.’

  
‘Like what?’ I hiss, the crowbar feeling heavy in my grasp. I don’t get a reply, just a roll of eyes before Freddie lifts the wooden cane and slams it against the side of an employee’s head. ‘Oh, that.’ 

  
I swing the weapon towards the nearest guy, who shields himself with a cushion. As Freddie has a cane-plastic chair fight with the girls behind me, the tool cuts through the cushion, polyester and feathers flying into the air. The man grabs the crowbar, pulling it towards him and I tighten my grip, the cold metal digging into a gash on my palm, making me wince. I’m too tired and cold to fight and he wrenches the weapon from me.

  
Arms wrap around my stomach and I’m lifted up, the crowbar getting closer and closer. I kick out, only to be lifted higher and brought backwards, the crowbar coming down in-between my legs, narrowly missing me. For a split second, I relax, then I remember I’ve been captured and still have an armed maniac in front of me. I kick again, scratching at the velvet clad arms around me. 

  
‘It’s me you tit.’ Freddie takes me back into the neon cat room, releasing me before grabbing my hand. ‘We need to run.’

  
The employees come charging into the cat room as Fred and I sprint away, holding each other’s hands way too tightly. I glance over my shoulder to the group, the man with the crowbar struggling to keep up with the girls, one of which has a cane. Not any cane.

  
‘Fred why does she have your weapon?’ I snarl.

  
‘She was strong, alright!’ Great, now we’re unarmed, being chased by four people who are stronger, more awake and faster than us. Well, faster than me, Freddie’s practically dragging me around now seeing as my legs have given up. ‘Round here.’

  
Freddie yanks me around a corner, skidding when we nearly collide with a massive forklift, before we come back around to where we were first confronted. Something’s different though.

  
‘There was another room there!’ Freddie screams, staring at the wall ahead in horror.

  
The section where we’d just seen the Office Chair Olympics is missing, the array of furniture and cushions that was in front of us now replaced with an information desk. Thundering footsteps get closer again as I weakly pull my friend around the next corner, a long twisting hallway stretching out before us, the doorway to the miscellaneous bit a tiny square in the distance - the silhouette of a poodle on a spinny chair flying past. There’s a tug on my arm as Freddie springs forward towards the exit, looking back at me confused.

  
‘I’m really tired, Fred. Aren’t you?’ 

  
‘Yes, but I’m terrified.’ He tugs on my arm again, desperate. ‘Roger, how are you tired? You go two solid hours on the drums, for fuck sake.’

  
‘ _That is the exact reason I’m tired now you moron_.’ I glance back, the sound of the employee’s approaching getting louder as my arm is tugged again. ‘And my arm hurts you twat.’

  
‘Let’s just run and when you do collapse, I’ll-’ He stops, freezing up and staring past me. Before I can look around – to I guess the employees – Freddie charges over, roughly grabbing me, and slings me over his shoulder, turning on his heel and dashing forward. I cling onto his leotard, keeping my gaze locked on the group and try not to be sick from the endless jostling. 

  
I start to regain my breath, especially when I notice the gap between us and the danger is getting wider. Not wide enough, though, as we’re still within pillow throwing distance. The furry white cushion whacks Freddie on the back of the head followed immediately by the cane flying towards us.

  
‘TURN RIGHT.’ Freddie darts to the left just as the cane goes whizzing past and my eyes drop to the crowbar. I hope that guy’s aim isn’t as good as the girl’s. ‘We need to shake them off,’ I hiss Freddie’s volume and sense of direction coming to mind, ‘when we get to the door, turn right.’

  
‘RIGHT?’ He nods, slipping a little on the laminate flooring. ‘Nearly there.’ 

  
My grip on the singer’s leotard tightens, and he holds onto my legs firmly as we pass through the doorway, Freddie turning left. I sigh in relief, thankful that my friend’s brain tends to stop working when he panics. 

  
‘Down the first aisle.’ I whisper, slapping him on the back lightly. ‘Speed up.’

  
‘Going as fast as I can with a sweaty grown man slung over me!’ 

  
‘Keep weaving between the aisles.’ I snap, suddenly not keen on how I can’t see where I’m being taken. Freddie also has almost zero spatial awareness (I know this from the amount of times he’s nearly taken someone’s eye out with that bloody microphone stand) and I’m just waiting for my head to slam into a shelf full of washing up brushes. ‘Actually, put me down – _carefully.’_

  
He isn’t careful. The hold he has on my legs disappears and I slip down. Panicking at the sudden movement, I hook my legs around his waist and then the ground gets closer, my hands flying out in front of me. I am _not_ spending another moment on the floor of this bloody building. 

  
I grab hold of one of the shelves, pulling myself back up just as one of the women from the group comes charging down the aisle. As Freddie stands again, he shoves me forward and we race hand in hand between the shelves, down a corridor and into a room packed with carpets and curtains. 

  
‘Rog, there’s no door.’ Freddie gasps and I notice a corner at the end of the room.

  
‘There must be!’ I sprint over to the corner, letting go of my friend’s hand in the process. It’s taking all I have just to raise my feet off the ground, each breath becoming more difficult than the last and I need to stop when I get to the turn off, leaning over with my hands on my knees, gasping. My head feels foggy and a rumbling noise fills my ears. Groaning, I straighten, glancing around to Freddie who’s running away from the man with the crowbar.

  
‘ROGER!’ That didn’t come from Freddie. _‘ROGER!’_

  
I turn to my left, screaming as Brian comes careering towards me, the office chair slamming against me and bringing me on board, my arms and legs clumsily wrapping around my friend and the chair as we spin around. Brian yells in my ear as the spin slows, the chair itself speeding up. At first, I presume he’s shouting for the same reason I am – the shock of suddenly being on an out of control chair way too close to your friend – but no. 

  
The chair is heading towards an escalator, one built for trolleys, and it shows no signs of slowing down. From the low buzzing noise, I guess it’s still on, probably came on with the power. I try to push my feet into the floor to act as some kind of brake but it’s no use. The chair mounts the escalator, sliding down, the change in angle sending Brian and i flying off it as the chair topples over. My arms and torso graze onto the metal, the gashes on my palms stinging and burning. I look up to where Freddie is watching us, realising something.

  
‘Brian, we’re going down the up!’ Trying to ignore my agony, I spring to my feet, grabbing onto the handrail Brian’s clinging to and hurl myself over and onto the down, the grooves in the metal slicing into my back. Eye’s stinging with tears I try to stand, my hand slipping down the glass panel on the handrail, leaving behind red streaks. 

  
‘Roger, don’t move.’ John yells, attempting to run down the escalator with those platforms as I slowly travel down, warm, thick liquid running down the grooves, Brian and Freddie stepping onto the escalator- _hang on_.

  
‘Bri how did you get up there?’ I exclaim, squeaking at the jolt of pain shooting through me.

  
‘I went up the up to come down here.’ He shrugs. Yeah... that would’ve been a better idea. Just as I’m nearly at the bottom, John joins me, keeping one hand on the rail and holding out the other to me. I take his hand and my friend pulls me to my feet, steadying me. 

  
‘That really hurt.’ I mumble, nodding at the escalator, shuddering at the puddle of blood I’m stood in and the state of my chest. ‘Who knew escalators and lions had so much in common.’

  
Then, the employees arrive at the top of the escalator, Fred and Bri speeding up before the singer screams at something behind John and I. At the bottom there’s two more employees, both of which have hammers.

  
‘Roger, where’s the crowbar?’ John stares at me, slowly shaking his head.

  
‘They got it.’ I admit, grey eyes glaring as the bassist pushes past me, tearing over to the hammer wielders.

  
‘Deaky, don’t!’

  
I dismount the escalator as John grabs one of the girls’ wrists driving the hammer up and into her chin before the other girl wraps her arms around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. She’s taller than him, also has impressive biceps, and lifts my friend off the ground, John struggling against her. Freddie furiously yells at the woman and I run over, getting a handful of her short hair and pulling hard then wrap my fingers around her wrists, trying to make her release John. The hammer drops from her hands, clattering onto the floor and she kicks me hard in the shin.

Why am I being injured so much today?

  
I fall back, slender arms hooking under my own as Freddie holds me close as every muscle in my body screams in pain at me. They’re not the only ones screaming.

‘Let go of my Deaky!’ 

  
John digs his heel into the woman’s knee, but she doesn’t flinch, just slams the bassist the ground, gripping his hair and holds him down, laughing a little. I don’t want to look as she reaches for the hammer, but I can’t tear my eyes away. There’s a cry from under the woman – not a pained cry but one of defeat. Freddie’s arms tighten around me, the older man sniffling as she picks up the hammer, shifting back and letting go of John’s hair. 

  
‘You broke the number one rule. Never hurt another employee.’ She growls, raising the hammer, ready to bring it down on my friend.

  
There isn’t just one hammer though. Out of nowhere, another comes swinging down, smacking onto the woman’s head, knocking her out cold. Brian shivers as he drops the hammer, clearly shocked at what he’s done as she slumps down. John screeches when she lands on top of him, Brian pushing her off him with his foot and pulling the shaken bassist up.

  
‘Thank fuck for that.’ Freddie let’s go of me and rushes over to John, leaving me to stumble and fall against a forklift. 

  
_‘Perfect.’_ John breaks away from Freddie’s crushing hug and runs over to me, limping a little and taking a set of keys out his pocket. ‘Brian, are you alright driving this?’

  
‘What? Course I’m not!’ The guitarist comes over - John roughly shoving the keys into his hand - closely followed by a concerned Freddie who goes back to fussing John. 

  
Suddenly, employees jump off the escalator, stopping to take in the sight of their two unconscious colleagues. Instantly, Brian climbs into the forklift, Freddie giving John a leg up onto the back of it, the bassist taking my arm and pulling me up next to him.

  
The forklift rumbles to life and lurches forward, immediately stopping again. Next to me, John sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as Brian tries again.

  
‘I don’t know how to drive a forklift!’ He yells, the vehicle juddering. Letting out a growl, John unhooks his arm from mine and clambers into the forklift, slipping into Brian’s lap. ‘Deacy?’

  
‘Bri, do you want us to be killed?’ The bassist starts the vehicle and we finally trundle forward, slowly but still quicker than the group running after us.

  
‘Deacy, you’re not meant to drive this above 3mph!’ 

  
‘ _Bri do you want us to be killed_!’

  
Towering metal shelves whizz past, each packed with boxes and large signs hanging above the aisles. The employees get further away, as the forklift crashes through something, a row of tills and a clearance section passing us. The bumpy ride wakes me up more but doesn’t help the pain I’m in. It’s can’t be long now though; this bit is the exit surely. Not much more can happen now. 

  
‘Freddie, Roger, get down _now.’_

  
‘Oh, come on John!’ I groan, the thought of landing on the concrete beneath me making me shiver. 

  
‘GET DOWN.’ He repeats, Brian protesting too. There’s a shout as Freddie leaps off, rolling onto the concrete. 

  
‘Deacy, do _not_ drive through the door.’ 

  
Shit. I dive onto the floor, landing on my hands and knees, wailing. He is going to drive through the doors – I just know it. Rolling onto my back, I look back to the forklift. 

  
The warehouse doors fling open as John ploughs the forklift through it, the car park lights from outside bright in contrast to the now dull lights above us. Brian screams at the bassist as he brakes, John looking over at Freddie and I.

  
‘Quiet Bri. Fred, Roger get back here.’ Freddie pulls me to my feet and the two of us run to the vehicle, the employees gaining on us again, and we jump onto the back of it. The forklift starts again and we set out into the car park, Brian still furious at John.

  
‘Are you seriously suggesting we drive this thing back to the hotel.’

  
‘I’ve asked you twice already!’ As we bounce over the speed hump out the car park, the employees stand by the doorway, staring at us in fury. I’m expecting them to continue chasing us but no, they just turn away and go back into the building. 

  
‘They’ve gone.’ I frown, Freddie and I exchanging confused looks.

  
‘Now we’re going to be arrested for driving a forklift on the road, GBH and dangerous driving.’ Brian sighs, clinging onto John when we go over another speed hump, the bassist snickering. 

  
‘Oh relax, there’s no one on the roads at this hour.’ He pauses. ‘Sorry I suggested that store. I found the pamphlet for it yesterday, apparently it only opened last week and it said it stocked everything.’

  
‘It’s okay Deaky, I was intrigued by that place too. Weren’t to know it was mad.’

  
It doesn’t take long to get back to the hotel, and when we’re there the Opel Kadett is parked on the driveway. 

  
‘Let me do the talking – _shit_ we didn’t get the beds!’ John cries. Brian shoves the bassist out the forklift, John sliding about three feet away on the gravel. ‘I hate you!’

  
As Fred and I hop off the forklift, just as the hotel door swings open. 

  
‘Oh, boys I was wondering where you’d gone!’ The woman from... that feels like years ago when we set fire to the beds. ‘I got your note... bit confusing but...’  
Before she can finish, John limps over to her, dropping to his knees and holding her ankles.

  
‘Stop.’ He stares up at her. ‘This night has been too long for me to apologise about those beds! Those... _twats_ destroyed your stuff, meaning _I_ had to sort it, so we went to IKEA and have had the _worst experience ever known to man_. Please... whatever your name is and whoever you’ve murdered, _please.’_

  
‘That’s that Swedish shop isn’t it?’ She smiles.

  
‘That’s the bit of that speech you care about?’ John growls, a high-pitched wailing coming from down the road. I look around, curious, and two police cars roll onto the drive. An officer steps out and approaches the woman, another wandering to me.

  
‘Sorry, who are you?’ He asks.

  
‘Roger Taylor, the other three boys here are my mates.’

  
‘I suggest you four come with me.’

  
‘Officer, it was John!’ Brian points at the bassist being ushered over to us by Freddie. The officer looks at us confused before leading us to a black Rover, Miami leaning next to it.

  
‘Wondering where you’d-’

  
‘Don’t fucking talk to me.’ John mutters, getting straight into the car’s passenger seat. Miami doesn’t respond and climbs into the drivers as Brian, Freddie and I get in the back. 

  
‘So, you three, you narrowly avoided death.’ Miami begins.

  
‘Trust me... you have _no_ idea.’ I sigh, watching the woman as the officers handcuff her. 

  
‘She’s South Wales’ most wanted, don’t you know?’ 

  
‘Yes, Miami, we know that’s why we set fire to her beds and flooded her bathroom!’ John glares at our manager. 

  
‘Hang on, what is she wanted for?’ I ask.

  
‘Ooo, is she a murderer!’ John grins, Miami looking at him in fear.

  
‘Don’t worry, he was convinced she’s a killer since we got there.’ Brian assures.

  
‘Yeah I saw her in the news.’ The bassist shrugs, Brian, Freddie and I staring at him. ‘Sorry it’s just we needed somewhere to stay, didn’t we? Actually, Miami how did you know we were here?’

  
‘Reports of ‘four dishevelled women, one mostly naked and another in a giant velvet condom’ walking around town. About an hour ago, police got in touch and told us you might have been picked up by Wales’ Traveller Grabber.’

  
‘Sounds terrifying.’ I snort.

  
‘There’s a dead body in one of her rooms. Tipped off last week, police been planning on getting her since then.’ John says, nonchalantly. ‘Didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Boys can you shut up?’ Miami huffs. ‘What the hell happened tonight?’

  
The four of us run him through the events, interjected by way too many arguments and John being disturbingly blasé. Miami’s face becomes increasingly puzzled the entire time. 

  
‘So that’s why we ended up in a forklift.’ Brian finishes. ‘All John’s idea.’

  
‘Freddie caused it by jumping on a shitty bunk bed!’ John protests, meeting Miami’s confused gaze. ‘What?’

  
‘Since when did IKEA come to the UK?’ He frowns.

  
‘God, why is that the _only_ thing anyone is focusing on!’ 

  
‘No, seriously boys there is not an IKEA in Cardiff. Honestly.’ 

  
‘Well there was!’ At the next round-a-bout, Miami turns back the way we’ve just come, John attempting to grab the wheel. ‘Don’t take us back there!’

  
‘Back where? There is _no_ IKEA.’

  
He drives back to the car park, mine, John’s, Brian’s, and Freddie’s jaws dropping open.

  
The car park is still there, but its bigger, the new part of it littered by flattened cars and lampposts. That’s not the shock though.

  
The warehouse is gone. The massive, sprawling, looming blue building is gone. IKEA is gone. Brian looks up to the sky, whacking me on the arm and pointing at the dark clouds, a large hole blown in the middle, edged by royal blue light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY COW WHAT HAVE I WRITTEN?  
> I am so sorry to have wasted your time on this... whatever this is. There’s crackfics then there’s IKEA being.... ah I don’t know.  
> Right. I DO NOT BELIVE IKEA IS RUN BY ALIENS! I DO NOT BELIVE THE MEMBERS OF QUEEN ARE VIOLENT. I also don’t believe they have these opinions of each other, or anything else mentioned. I also don’t have these particular opinions.  
> Hope it caused a little joy, this story, and that you're not too furious.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
